I said I'd be home early. Even though the class ended at eight. I didn't expect the room to be wrong, or the students to be so engaging. I was late.
Liberated from the weight of the Cell Phone umbilical cord, it lay dead in a sticky part of my car. (Spilled coffee or juice, never mopped up well enough and now coins are embedded there as well.) I was a free woman, teaching new students, feeling a love of my craft and the crescendo of a brighter semester than I'd planned.
It was eight ten when I walked out to my car, answering cascading questions from eager new eyes and ears.
When I got home he wasn't there. "Where is daddy?"
"He went to find you."
He opened the door a second later and he was not a happy man. In a fog of love I listened to him lecture me about the stupid phone and about telling people one time when I should have been more careful and responsible, blah blah....
Because all that mattered was that he ....
He came to find me. He told the oldest, who is of age, to watch the little ones, and he assured them I was fine (even though he was not sure) and he drove into the night to rescue me.
He drove to the unfamiliar school and saw my car, but went inside anyway in case I was being held hostage.
He heard a girl on her life line phone talking about a great class and asked if it was mine and she said , "Yes, are you Bill? She talked about you." and he said "What room?"
But when he got there it was empty. The room. And once he was out in the parking lot again, my car was gone.
Later that night, next to him, crickets outside, room dark:
"If I was kidnapped and stolen away to Saudi Arabia would you come across the sea and steal me back?"
"If I was trapped inside a collapsed building after an earthquake would you rescue me?"
If I was missing would you find me."
He held me tighter than usual. And even though we've loved each other for twelve years, it is one thing to say love and another to show it. He came to find me.
I always hoped he would.